


Chocolate Can Cure Anything

by Rachel24601



Series: Scenes Missing From Season 2 [2]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel24601/pseuds/Rachel24601
Summary: Mid-Season 2. Michael and Sara catch some time alone in the backseat of a car, when Kellerman and Lincoln are out. Things get out of hands. Mi/Sa. Dark humor. Rated M for allusions to sexual content.
Relationships: Michael Scofield/Sara Tancredi
Series: Scenes Missing From Season 2 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860136
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Chocolate Can Cure Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This just came up for some reason last night while I couldn't find sleep. Please share your thoughts in the comment section!

There are some that say that love mixed with fear is sweetest.

Sara’s never related to that before.

There’ve been men, men who made love to her, men whose temper she feared, and it never seemed to make their passion any _better_ , or different at all.

On the contrary.

She would watch their faces contort in pleasure and her brain would shoot pangs of alarm throughout her system, and she would sober up, no matter how high she was, because the ecstasy in their eyes looked as wild as anger.

But that was a long time ago, in her days of morphine and morbid love, far away like a dream that crumbles just as you think you see the shape of it nearly whole beneath your closed eyelids.

“Are you okay?”

Sara turns to face Michael.

He doesn’t stifle her with such questions – and when he does asks, she can hear in his voice how much it matters.

Their car is at a standstill. They’ve stopped for gas, and Lincoln is stretching his legs while Kellerman fills up the vehicle.

For the past four hours, they’ve been crammed up inside that car, all four of them, the air they breathed acid, toxic, but now it’s only her and Michael in the backseat.

The plea for honesty is too strong in his eyes for her to ignore it. So, she merely looks down, and he lets her deflect.

Doesn’t want to push her to say it.

Of course, ‘okay’ is not what Sara is.

In the past few weeks, she’s been orphaned, tortured, made to run for her life.

She must say, back in the days when she was hiding in a broom closet at the hospital and shooting morphine into her vein, she didn’t think there were ways to get any lower, but stitching up your own arm without any painkillers really puts things into perspective.

She hears Michael exhale – it’s one of those sighs he lets out when his brain is storming for a solution behind the impassive gate of his eyes.

A slight rattling sound is heard as he plunges his hand inside his pocket. He draws it out after a second and produces a Kit-Kat bar.

“Are you hungry?”

It proves too much for her – tiredness has been working at her recently – and she bursts out laughing.

Michael crunches up his brows like an unknown specimen has just dropped into his lap.

“What?”

“Nothing. You got to hand it to the little things in life, right?”

Though he doesn’t repeat it, the look on his face is still saying, _What_?

“Sure,” she says. “Give me your Kit-Kat.”

But she only wants half, and he eats what’s left of it.

Kellerman is inside the convenience store now, doing some quick shopping for some groceries.

Lincoln is probably giving them some air – and Sara must say she’s grateful for it.

They’re silent while they munch up the chocolate. Sara half-absently notes how gracefully he does it – how he unburies the secret dignity in eating chocolate bars in the backseat of a car.

“Look,” he says after a while, when she’s licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers. Just at the tone of his voice, she can tell how worried he still is. “If this is too much for you –”

“Of course it’s _too_ much.” She cuts in. “Just half of it would have been too much, Michael. But it is what it is. If that’s what’s working you up, I _will_ try not to strangle Kellerman again, hopefully we’ll all get through it alive and soon, this will be behind us.”

He closes his mouth.

For a second, a transparent look of admiration sweeps over his face.

She can almost guess the precise contents of his thoughts.

And he doesn’t know whether to be sorry or impressed, when he thinks of the smiling prison doctor he rescued from a riot, just a few weeks ago.

Now, she’s become her own rescuer, and if they hadn’t grabbed her away from Kellerman, her own avenger, too.

Is _that_ too much? For him?

No.

In fact, as she looks more closely, she can see his lips are rolling together in repressed want.

They haven’t kissed since the train, only a few hours ago – and yet, it seems ridiculous, suddenly, that they’re alone now and are _not_ kissing.

Desire creeps down her belly, and she reaches for his hand, clutches his fingers with hers, never looking away from him.

His eyes burn in a crossroads between passion and fear –

 _He’s_ afraid, yes. Afraid to lose control.

And suddenly, surprising herself as well as him, Sara pushes against his chest and climbs on his lap before he can resist.

Why shouldn’t he lose control, when she’s lost everything?

“Sara.”

The word tastes like raw need against her lips, and as it’s not an outright objection, she pushes her lips against his.

He moans, fuels her want for him, and before she can think, she’s grinding her hips against his, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck, sliding her tongue in his mouth.

These are tinted windows, but the doors are unlocked, and Sara’s vaguely aware she should feel worried about them getting interrupted.

But worry never enters the picture.

Not even as she feels Michael hardening against her thigh, and she grinds harder against him, defying the odds.

Let them find us, she thinks.

Let Kellerman open the door right now and gape in astonishment.

Of course, he’d smirk and hold on to the image as if it were some kind of leverage to use against her – he only ever thought in terms of power, and _this_ would give him power in his book, like if he’d run into the bathroom while she was changing and seen her without her clothes.

But right now, Sara doesn’t care, knows how wrong he is.

What she is doing right now, not caring about what that man thinks about her, only following the ravishing course of crude desire – _that_ is empowering.

“Woo-ah.”

The uncertain noise Lincoln makes is what forces them apart – neither of them heard him open the car door.

Skillful, like Sara’s done this dozens of time before, she climbs down from Michael’s lap and regains her seat next to him.

In the corner of her eye, she can see both the shocked look on Lincoln’s face and the red heat on Michael’s, who is doing his best to sit comfortably while concealing his erection.

“Hi, uh –”

“I should have knocked.” Lincoln said, and Sara nearly laughs at how absurd it is.

“No, never mind. Better you than Kellerman.”

The brothers exchange a look of mutual startle at her reply.

It’s like they can’t get used to it – her braveness, her beaming defiance.

How can you be left to drown in a tub and jump out of a window to save your skin, and still be the same person you were?

No more damsel in distress, Sara thinks.

Maybe Michael thinks that’s scary – maybe he’s scared of her, because he can’t figure her out, for a change.

Maybe.

All she knows is she can still taste the chocolate on her lips – and the taste of his kiss is sweeter. Fear or no fear.


End file.
